First of Many

by Ashley Suzanne

  “Daddy, stop it. Sheena will kill you if you mess up my makeup.”

  “Nope, cry on, sugar. Sheena was smart and used the waterproof stuff. Plus, it’s not every day a girl’s daddy walks her down the aisle.”

  “And hands her over to another man, no matter how good a man he is,” Dad adds through gritted teeth.

  “Okay, stop. We gotta go. They’re waiting on us.” Sheena moves around my father and me to lead the way out of the dressing room and impatiently waits, complete with hip holding and toe tapping.

  “Oh shush, they can’t start without me. They’ll wait, now, won’t they?”

  “Come on, sweet girl. It’s your day. Let’s get you married. Saw Rowan a bit ago and he’s chomping at the bit. If you don’t get your ass movin’ he might come drag you up there himself.”

  Sheena scurries out of the room, the procession officially underway, leaving me no other choice but to follow. And after waiting a few breaths, Dad and I are right behind her.

  We opted for no extra fluff—no flower girl, no ring bearer—just Rowan and me. And of course our close friends and family, too.

  The pace down the aisle—slow and steady—gives me a chance to see everyone. I nod and smile in appreciation for them taking time out of their lives to celebrate this day with Rowan and me. I’ve never been one to enjoy the center of attention, but it’s nice to see them all on their feet and eyes on me.

  I told myself last night I wouldn’t look at Rowan until I got there, but curiosity gets the best of me. Is he smiling at everyone else, or is he looking at me? And when I risk a glance, his eyes are glued to me and I pause, so taken aback with his beauty and the sheen glazing over his deep-blue eyes. This is the most beautiful sight in the world.

  “Baby girl, we gotta keep moving,” Dad whispers in my ear.

  “I know. Just need a second,” I respond. This is one of those moments they write romance books about. The very second the heroine knows, completely understands everything—even the terrible and ugly—has led her to this exact point; it’s all absolutely perfect and there really was a reason for everything.

  One foot in front of the other, I make my way closer to my forever.

  Rowan comes down the three steps leading to the altar, he and my father exchange a handshake and a pointed stare from my father. When all’s said and done, I take Rowan’s hand and we take our positions in front of the minister. Sheena smooths out my train before taking my bouquet.

  I can’t tell you a single word the minister says; I’m too busy seeing the love I feel for Rowan reflecting back at me.

  “Charlie?” Rowan quietly prompts. “It’s your turn.”

  “For what?” I snap back to reality.

  “Vows, baby,” he softly chuckles.

  “Oh,” I giggle, embarrassed. “Got it.” I turn to the minister. “I’m good to go?”

  “Yes, please,” he answers with a smile.

  “Alright.” I take a deep breath as Rowan squeezes my hands in a reassuring manner. “Rowan Xavier Thorne, there will never be enough words to describe how much I love you, but I’m gonna give it a shot.

  “I was a child when I fell in love with you. A young woman when I knew you were all I ever wanted. And now, here, I’m an adult who is so very honored and elated to be standing in this very position, ready to become your wife. I’m staring my future in the eyes and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m forever grateful God put you in my path … gave you to me. We’ve seen it all in the last few years. We’ve witnessed more in this short period than most will ever see in their lifetime. Yet, every time I see you, I’m seeing that seventeen-year-old boy who all but forced me into a date. I worried then you didn’t really like me, but now, I know my doubts were silly. And today, I’m proud to become your partner and give myself to you for the rest of my life.”

  “Well, that’s a tough act to follow.” Rowan squeezes me again, and I smile, swallowing the nerves I fought to keep at bay to get all that out. It wasn’t everything; I messed up a few things I memorized, but I think he gets the point. He’s the only thing that matters.

  “Better get started, Rowan. It’s on you now. Do you have any promises or something you’d like to say to your bride?”

  I absolutely love that the minister is a family friend and knows both of us. Our ceremony should be personal, and Minister Randall is as personal as it gets.

  “Actually, I do. Charlotte Antoinette Thompson, the girl who demanded I call her Charlie, regardless that Charlotte is who you are through and through. Everything we’ve been through … you’ve been through … you’ve handled it with a grace, a class, a courage that only a Charlotte could.

  “I was going crazy this morning, waiting to see you, so Google and I became best friends and I did a little research. Charlottes are creative and expressive. They’re writers and want beauty surrounding them. They’re feminine. They’re elegant. But here and now, in front of family, friends, and God, I will promise to always call you Charlie because I’ll constantly and consistently be the man to give you everything I can.

  “There are a lot of things I can control, and those I will do without question, and those I can’t, I’ll do my absolute best to make you happy.

  “Being your husband will be the greatest responsibility I’ll ever have and my most favorite job. Nothing will ever come before you, Charlie. You’re the center of my universe, and every day I wake up next to you will be the best day of my life.”

  “God, I love you,” I whisper through my unstoppable tears. And don’t let Sheena’s rough exterior fool you; I hear her sniffling back there, too.

  “Never as much as I love you,” he responds, the same as he always does, and sometimes, he may be right, but I doubt it.

  “Charlotte. Rowan. I’ve watched you two grow for years and am honored to have been asked to officiate this ceremony, joining two young people in love in matrimony. Charlie, do you take Rowan …”

  “Oh, I do,” I rush out, not letting him finish his statement. It’s not needed.

  “Okay then,” he laughs. “Rowan, do you …”

  “You already know I do. Can I kiss her now?”

  “Well, one more thing. Is there anyone who objects to this union?” he asks, and I scan the crowd. If one person even looks like they want to stand, I’m going to let Sheena tackle them. A few seconds pass and nobody moves.

  “Just kiss her already,” Jansen cheers from behind Rowan.

  “Agreed,” Sheena offers.

  “I’m positive you two will climb and move every mountain you face, and you’ll be the lucky ones who make it. Please, because everyone’s staring daggers at me … Rowan, please kiss your bride.”

  As quickly as Rowan moves toward me, I leap into his arms, our lips seeking one another, and as classy as I wanted this moment to be, our passion takes over. And after our inappropriate kiss in the house of God, in front of everyone we love, we join our hands, fingers laced, and head back down the aisle husband and wife.

  No matter how many times I scribbled it in a notebook, dreamed about it, Charlotte Thorne is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

  Picture after picture, I’m ready to hit the reception hall. Not only do I want to see everyone, I’m starved to death. Like, if I don’t get my hands on something to eat, I might have to take a bite out of Jansen’s arm. I’m proud of Sheena, who’s taking every single picture in stride, even pretending to still like Jansen so my wedding pictures are perfect.

  Once the car drops us at the hall, we have to wait out in the hall for the DJ to get everyone situated to announce us as we make our way inside. Since Prom wasn’t the greatest experience for me—being the cancer girl and not being able to do much—Rowan wanted to give me the night I never truly had. We didn’t just choose colors, we chose a theme. Happily Ever Afters.

  With everyone getting restless inside, I know it’s about time. Before reaching the inside of the hall, there’s a set of double doors leading t
o a small vestibule, which only adds to the amazing effects Rowan’s pulled out, even calling the girl who planned and decorated our Prom. If he isn’t the most perfect husband ever …

  We walk through an arch of vines, flowers, and fairies only to reach the end where a table’s set up for guests to get their table assignments, and for us, the wedding party, an array of props to decorate ourselves with before we join our loved ones.

  The photographer’s in the room with us and starts taking a few candid shots. Rowan, of course, wants more. He pulls me in front of him—typical prom pose—and catches the photog’s attention.

  “Smile, angel. I want to remember how beautiful you look tonight.”

  “You got it.” My lips curl as high as they can. I’m sure every tooth in my mouth is on full display as I gleefully fulfill his request. Sheena stands next to him, snapping her own image on her phone.

  “This is absolutely adorable,” she gushes, showing me her phone. I nearly combust—so full of love—when I see the image, and what he was obviously happy about; my wide smile and Rowan never takes his eyes off me.

  “You were supposed to smile,” I tease, gently jabbing him in the stomach.

  “I was. Just not at the camera man, only at you.”

  “You’re so damn romantic. What am I gonna do with you?”

  “Love me?”

  “Rare breed, Rowan Thorne.”

  Sheena and Jansen walk through the doors first, dancing their way to a Bruno Mars song, and I can’t wait to see the videos … it has to be amazing!

  And here we go …

  “For the first time ever, I’m proud to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Rowan Thorne,” the DJ announces as Rowan and I come through the double doors being held open by the ushers. Rowan wanted—no, demanded—for us to be welcomed by our friends and family to something sweet and romantic, but I had other ideas. And well, the man’s a sucker for giving into every wild dream I’ve ever had, so why stop now? Once the word “death” is said to you by a doctor, in relation to your own lifespan, you look at the world with a different set of eyes. We’re only going to get this day once, and I don’t want to watch the video in a decade and wish we did something less boring. Which is why, well, we’re kicking it up a notch—or twelve.

  Sheena and Jansen wait patiently for us as we stand at the entrance, our hands locked together and raised above our heads. The crowd of attendees is already yelling, whistling and hooting for our arrival. I nod at the DJ and “Moves Like Jagger” by Maroon 5 begins streaming out of every speaker in the crowded hall. Casually, we all toss on some aviator sunglasses and Sheena and Jansen start swaying side to side, kicking their feet. Rowan and I casually walk through our friends and family until the lyrics start. Now, it’s our turn to let loose.

  “You ready, mama?” Sheena asks, and I nod only once.

  With my bouquet in the air, I glide around the dance floor with my maid of honor. When the chorus hits, Sheena and I bounce around, whistling along with the track. All in all, it’s absolutely perfect and way better than the YouTube video I saw a few weeks ago.

  We waive our arms, inviting everyone onto the dance floor in the most untraditional scene since we haven’t had our first dance as a married couple, but we’re as untraditional as you can get. This day’s more than just Rowan and me finally putting our love on paper and signing a contract. This is a party for everyone who prayed, wished, and hoped I’d get to experience this day. This was for everyone who cried thinking it would never happen. We wanted to celebrate with every person here. It’s not a large reception by any means, but we’re surrounded by people we’ve loved all of our adult lives. If I had to pick only one word to describe this exact moment and all the angst it took getting here, I’d have to say perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  The song comes to a close and the DJ’s voice echoes through the speakers. “Thank you to everyone who participated in the celebration of Rowan and Charlotte’s love. I’d like to invite everyone to take their seats and direct their attention to the happy couple, who’d like to share their first official dance as husband and wife with all of you. In a special request by Rowan to his bride, here you go.”

  “What did you do?” I ask, shocked. We’d run down the playlist no less than a dozen times, even picked “our” song. Never once did Rowan tell me he was doing anything different.

  “Baby, did you really think you’d get a whole day without a single surprise?”

  “Well, since everything’s planned down to the minute, I kinda figured surprises weren’t a good thing, more of a hiccup. “How to Save a Life” was supposed to be it, for obvious reasons, but I guess … I don’t know. What did you pick?”

  “Oh, calm it down, Charlie. I get to do one thing for my bride on her day. Deal with it, it’s happening.”

  I swallow and swoon. Rowan’s never been big on telling me … anything, really. He’s more of go-with-the-flow kind of guy, but this domineering side, I like it. A lot.

  “Okay,” I breathlessly mutter and stand patiently with him on the dance floor, never taking my eyes off his.

  Paramore’s “Still Into You” begins playing and I laugh. The lyrics to this song describe exactly how we feel about each other.

  I glanced to my mother just before Rowan extends his hand for me to take. She shakes her head and lets out a giggle. I go to Rowan, expecting to bounce around with the unusual pop tunes by one of my favorite bands, but instead he pulls me close and begins to sway.

  “Hey, Charlie?” he asks.

  “Yes, baby.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not even a little. It’s absolutely perfect and us to a T.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. I stole the CD Sheena made for you and this song was burned on there a few times. I figured you liked it.”

  “I love it, and babe?” I respond, pulling away from his warmth to look him in the eyes.

  “Hmmm?”

  “After all this time, I’m still into you, too.”

  “You better be,” he teases.

  Rowan is the best part of humanity, and I’m more blessed than I can express to know him, let alone be married to him. I place my lips on his freshly shaven cheek and just let them rest there for a moment—not truly a kiss, but not not a kiss, either—then go back to enjoying the most perfect dance a girl could dream of. Between listening to the song and the beat of his heart, we glide peacefully together, and the rest of our guests slowly join us. Our theme—the one he was adamant on making happen—is more than perfect. My parents, his parents, grandparents, new couples, old couples, hell, even Sheena and Jansen—happily ever afters everywhere we look, living and breathing, waiting to be snatched up and claimed.

  Chapter 7

  The First Fight

  Glaring—and I mean the most awful glare known to man—at the small, white stick on the counter, another round of depression and extreme disappointment washes over me. There’s no damn reason this fucker shouldn’t have turned pink.

  For the last thirty days, we’ve been doing everything we could find online, in magazines, and even tossed in a few old wives’ tales and religious theories for good measure, and still … blue. My new least-favorite color in the entire history of pigment. Rowan hasn’t given himself a hand in the last month, and my legs should be permanently glued to the wall as many times as I stick them up there to keep the stuff inside. Hell, I have a fucking fertility goddess statue in my backyard.

  We’ve. Tried. Everything.

  Yet, here I am sitting on a closed toilet, staring at a pinkless stick while my amazing husband paces on the other side of the door, his sock-covered feet wearing a clear path in the carpeting. Oh, and with each shuffle, my resolve cracks a little bit more. Just like every time we’ve rinsed and repeated this process, I’m going to get to step out of the bathroom only to watch his hope and dream of having a son to toss a football with, or daughter to adore, fly straight out the window.

  I’m not just letting myself down, I’m destroying my husband on
e negative pregnancy test at a time. And that’s the part that hurts most—not giving him a child—even more than my own desires to be a mother.

  “Charlie,” he whispers, rapping on the barrier between us. “The timer went off, baby,” he reminds me, as if my eyes haven’t been glued to the little window, praying for the second line—the pink one—to appear. Like I wouldn’t have burst out the door and jumped into his arms the moment I realized we were going to be parents.

  “I know,” I respond with some semblance of chipper left in my voice. I’m not wanting to lead him on. Instead, I’d rather give him another minute of possibility before I break the news … again.

  “No matter what, it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, Charlie. Do you hear me?”

  Every time he says the same thing, and I think he really means it. Only problem with his logic—he’ll mean it until he finally has enough and comes to the conclusion his desire to be a father outweighs his overwhelming need to be cautious of my feelings. Once he’s done protecting me, then what? I’ll be left childless and husbandless.

  “It’s negative.” My heart falls when the words leave my mouth.

  “We’ll keep trying. That’s the fun part, right?” I can hear the sadness behind the playful tone he’s attempting to portray. I can’t keep doing this to him. Me.

  “Rowan,” I sigh, unable to do this right now. I need a little while—enough to get myself together.

  “I mean it, Charlie. I know it’s not what we hoped for, but it’ll happen at the right time. Come out here, please.”

  “Please, just don’t, Rowan. Please,” I beg.

  “Sorry, babe. We’re alive, married, and living life, doing exactly what we wanted to do. A baby is an added bonus. We’re good, and one day, we’ll have that baby and it’ll be perfect. And until then, we’ll live this perfect. Me and you.”

  Annoyed, frustrated, and allowing the anger to get the best of me, I stand up from the toilet, turn the handle, and rip open the door to meet the face behind the words meant to comfort, yet they do anything but.

  “I asked, Rowan, not once but twice, and you just keep pushing. Sometimes people need a damn minute to let it all sink in before the pep talk starts!” I yell, unable to channel my emotions in a way that’s not destructive. I know I’m not helping, but there’s nothing else I can do. As terrible as it sounds, it’s making me feel better to let out some of the hurt.